


Mini Bites

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Academy fluff, And very little chill, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Romantic Fluff, Seychelles fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 17,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ever growing assortment of Tumblr drabbles of various length and tone, all based on a first sentence prompt.  The title for each chapter is the original prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The kids are gone, we are alone, what next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“The kids are gone, we are alone, what next?“

“A lie in, maybe?” Jemma suggests from her vigil by the window, where she’s still waving goodbye to the reclining silhouettes of Mrs. Fitz and the two little curly heads scampering along.

“We’ve both been awake for four hours,” Fitz counters, “for which I’m blaming _your_ freaky dominant genes.”

Jemma rolls her eyes before she walks back to the living room to find him standing with his fists on his hips. When she takes in the little bow hair grip hanging from the top of his head, courtesy of their toddler daughter who loves nothing like beautifying her dad, a wide smile spreads on her face.

“You know, you’re looking quite dashing this morning, Dr. Fitz,” she notes. “Let’s go back to bed anyway.”


	2. Are you crazy Fitz?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Are you crazy Fitz?!”

A handful of molten wedding cake landed to her feet, leaving her to stare in horror at the brown puddle and the sputters now marring her pretty beige shoes.

“Come on, Jemma, this is an age old tradition,” Fitz declared placatingly and scooped another half-slice of pastry in his hand, aiming for his bride.

“This is insane, and unsanitary, and just –plain wrong!” Jemma screeched as a dab of creamy icing landed in her hair.

“But also delicious,” he smirked before licking his chocolate-stained fingers one by one.

“I take it back,” she yelped, “I don’t want to marry you anymore!”


	3. I love you more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I love you _more_.”

“More than _anyone in the world?”_ the little girl pressed, her face crunching in an expectant frown.

“More than anyone in the world,” Jemma confirmed with a solemn nod, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead before she resumed drinking imaginary tea from a tiny wooden cup.

“Hey,” Fitz’s voice came out from the kitchen in an exaggerated whine, “I’m feeling kind of left out, here.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Mellie shouted back loud enough to make Jemma’s ears ring, “you’re still her second favorite person!”

“Well, that’s relief,” Fitz’s replied, plainly amused. When Jemma looked up again she found him leaning against the door frame, watching them play, with an air of mirth etched on his face.


	4. Come on now, don’t you trust me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Inevitablyfitzsimmons.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Come on now, don’t you trust me?”

“Can I get back to you on that?” Fitz asked, testing the resistance of the silk ties binding his wrists to the bed frame.

“So, I take it it’s a ‘no’ on the blindfold, then?” Jemma asked as she went to straddle his still-clothed thighs, biting a smirk.

“Aaah, that tickles,” Fitz yelped when she started running her nails down his torso, wiggling away as best he could.

“You know we don’t have to do this, right?” Jemma reminded him as he kept shying away from her touch.

“I _know,”_ he guffed, and took a long, theatrical breath. “Okay, I’m ready. You can proceed to have your way with me.”


	5. I married a complete idiot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jemmaslittlemonkey.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I married a complete idiot!”

Jemma chokes on the words, the tears streaking down her cheeks belying the stated sentiment.

“I’m okay, I promise,” he replies, craddling her head in his hand and smearing blood in her hair as he does.

He only winces when she wraps her arms around him -his shoulder is bleeding profusely, but he’s confident the wound is only superficial.

“Well I’m, not,” she sobs. “I thought-”

“Shh,” he whispers, and holds her tighter with his good arm.


	6. If anyone finds out about this, we’re fired for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Grapehyasynth.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“If anyone finds out about this, we’re fired for sure.”

Jemma only nods as she stares and the wreckage, her eyes wide.

“I can’t believe we ruined a six-figures piece of equipment while we were-”

“Don’t say it!” Jemma screeches, glancing nervously at the lab’s main entrance.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll go and get the cleaning crew.”

“Fitz,” she hisses after him, “your fly!”


	7. Promise me you won’t faint!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jemmamaximoff.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Promise me you won’t faint!” Jemma demands once more, before she grabs the snorkeling pack out of his hands.

Fitz rolls his eyes. “I’m a grown man, Jemma, I’m not gonna pass out. It’s only water.”

“It was only water then, too,” she insists, keeping the equipment out of his reach.

“Well, if I do faint, you’ll be right there to pull me back to the surface, won’t you?”

Jemma’s jaw hits the floor and she stares back silently, too gobsmacked to come up with a clever retort.

“Too soon?” Fitz winces.

“It will never not be too soon,” she mutters between gritted teeth.


	8. Fitz grumbled under his breath as he removed his blazer, unnecessary in the thick, sticky heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Unbreakablejemmasimmons.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

Fitz grumbled under his breath as he removed his blazer, unnecessary in the thick, sticky heat.

“I could get it fixed in under an hour,” he grouched. “If only you’d let me–”

“Ugh, Fitz!” Her sigh was so heartfelt, he could hear from the other side of the apartment. “It’s not my fault you’re not allowed to ‘upgrade’ anything in this building anymore.”

Fitz was instantly incensed by the reminder. “Oh, really? If memory serves, that was entirely–”

The rest of his righteous rant died on his lips the moment Jemma walked past him to pour herself a glass of water, wearing nothing but tiny shorts and some skimpy tank top he’d certainly never seen before.

“Entirely what?” Jemma asked innocently as she handed him a glass.

“Wh– I–” With some difficulty, Fitz willed his eyes away from Jemma’s pale, bare thighs.

“Thanks,” he finally said, quite piteously. “I’ll, uh, call the landlord, see if there’s news,” he announced, before retreating to his room, far away from the sight of his barely decent, entirely too enticing best friend.


	9. I’ll have you know that we actually have to work on this at some point in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Inevitablyfitzsimmons.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I’ll have you know that we actually have to work on this at some point in time.”

His protestations were weak even to his own ears, and when Jemma hopped on the bench, he stepped in between her legs automatically, letting her pull him in for a kiss.

“Someone could come,” he muttered against her lips.

She pushed him away just enough to smirk at him coyly, raising an eyebrow for effect.

 _“Jemma!”_ He gasped. “If I had known all these years you had such a dirty mind…”

“Oh come on,” she chuckled openly now. “We shared a flat for a year. I know your mind wasn’t exactly pure and innocent back then either.”

“Are you seriously mocking my years of pining for you right now?”

The humor faded from her face instantly.

“No,” she said softly, her voice heartfelt. “I wouldn’t.”

“You’re easy.” She could feel his smile as he went in for another kiss.

“ _You’re_ easy,” she replied, pulling him tighter against her.


	10. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Im-just-a-cinnamon-roll.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “You said that already. Many, many times.”

“Well, I do,” he grumbled as they passed the entrance hand in hand.

“It’s our ten years reunion, Fitz. We get only one of those. Aren’t you at all curious to find out what everybody’s been up to?”

“Mmh,” he pretended to ponder it for a moment. “ _No._ I’m really not.”

She was about to berate him for his childishness when, from the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar figure approach them. From where they were standing, the surprisingly large head seemed to be floating over the stick-thin body like a balloon.

 _“Behave,”_ she preventively muttered, pressing his hand more firmly in hers.


	11. How should we tell the team about us?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ecb1056150.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“How should we tell the team about us?”

“We shouldn’t,” Fitz yawned, pulling her closer.

“Are you serious?” Jemma, sounding vaguely alarmed, disentangled herself from him to get a proper look at his face.

“See, I’m not sure I could handle Coulson giving me a speech on responsibility and birth control,” he stated, valiantly trying to keep a straight face. “Tis the kind of stuff nightmares are made of.”

Jemma snorted. “Well in that case, I’m fairly certain I’d get the threatening tirade on the consequences I would have to endure if I ever went and broke your heart.”

“You make a compelling case,” he smirked. “Let’s tell them right now.”

“That still leaves the question of _how_.”

“A riddle?” Fitz suggested. “A rebus? How about a charade? We could work in teams–”

“Okay, okay,” she shut him up with a kiss. “We’ll tell them tomorrow before briefing.”

“Your call,” he grinned, toying with a strand of her hair. “Spoilsport.”


	12. About last night… You liked that, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jemmamaximoff.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“About last night… You liked that, right?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Jemma replied, her lips arching into a smile. “If I remember correctly, you were worried I would wake up the entire base.”

He was blushing now, looking hesitant and unsure. Jemma tried to reconcile that image with her memories from the previous night. The things he’d said to her…

“It’s just– I–” Fitz sighed, frustrated with himself. “I mean, you _always_ take charge and I thought–”

“I loved it, Fitz,” she insisted. “It was really… _effective_.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, looking at her with such affection and longing Jemma’s heart picked up once more.

“In fact,” she said, infusing her words with a seductive tone, “I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.”

Jemma dropped a kiss under his ear, something she knew would get his attention.

“We have to be in the lab in half an hour,” he reminded her, quite regretfully.

She shrugged, a mischievous smile imprinting her lips. “Then we better save time and shower together.”

“How is that saving time?” His eyebrows shot to his hairline, but he followed her anyway.

(They were a good twenty minutes late. No one commented on it, or Fitz’s unusually good mood.)


	13. He opened the door in a hurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mrsdecaestecker.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

He opened the door in a hurry.

“Jemma?” Fitz called. “What are you doing? We’re gonna be late!”

He entered the room, taking in the mostly empty suitcase laying on her bed and the clothes piling haphazardly on the floor.

“You’re not done packing?” Fitz asked, sounding incredulous. They’d taken many trips together over the years and each time, Jemma was prepped and ready to go at least a full day before departure.

She shook her head, looking on the verge of tears.

Fitz took a hold on himself and pulled her to him, resting his forehead against hers. “Jemma,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t think we should go,” she said, stifling a sob. “Not with Lincoln… and Daisy…”

He held her for a few moments as she cried, before he murmured in her ear, “I don’t think either of them would oppose to us being happy. Do you?”

Jemma only shook her head, sniffling.

“Let’s go. We can be miserable the entire time, if you prefer.”

“I might,” she threatened with a wobbly smile.

He let go of her then, not before he wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

“I’m not packed!” she exclaimed with trepidation in her voice.

“I would suggest all you really need is a toothbrush and a bikini, but–”

“I’ll have you know I purchased more than one outfits for _your_ benefits,” she informed him as she started rummaging through the clothing piles. “Help me, will you?”


	14. He’s totally staring at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lapiccolina.   
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“He’s totally staring at you,” Bobbi informed Jemma as she pointed conspicuously to the curly haired boy two tables over, whose face seemed vaguely familiar.

“No, he’s not,” Jemma denied faintly as a blush crept up her cheeks.

“Is too,” Daisy smirked. “Dude, he’s _cute_. You should go talk to him.”

“ _Or_ , unpopular opinion,” she countered with feigned irritability, “I could keep working on this so I don’t fail my exams.”

Daisy snorted at that. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Jemma Simmons fail at _something_ , for a change. Would make the rest of us feel less inadequate.”

“Do you guys know each other?” Bobbi pressed and, to Jemma’s horror, waved for him to come sit with them.

Moments later, the boy was standing by their table with a stack of books in his hands, his posture a mixture of nerves and eagerness.

“Hi,” he said, before turning to address her directly, the tip of his ears growing red. “Hi, Jemma.”

The way he said her name, in that voice, in that accent, sent a wave of recognition through her, along with something else she didn’t care to examine –not in the middle of the library, with her two nosy best friends watching, anyway.

“Fitz, is it?” Jemma asked with a tentative grin.

He beamed, obviously pleased that she remembered. When he smiled, his face looked so boyish and handsome she would have forgotten where they were and who they were with, if not for the sound of Daisy’s snickering.


	15. Let me take care of you, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence here](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask), anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Let me take care of you, for once,” Jemma insisted with a patience she didn’t feel after long minutes of needlessly arguing with a decidedly unreasonable Fitz.

“You always take care of me,” he countered grumpily.

He crossed his arms over his chest in a picture of grouchiness that was somewhat lessened by the pastier-than-ever tone of his skin, as well as the impressive dark circles under his eyes.

“Which must be terribly upsetting, I’m sure,” Jemma replied, biting a smile, as she pulled the cover back up to his chin.  

“Look,” Fitz put on his best bargaining smile, which wasn’t very effective in his current predicament. “I’m just gonna pop in the lab for a minute–”

“ _No._ ”

“–transfer some files to my tablet and _then_ , I won’t leave this bed for the rest of the day. I _promise_.”

“Absolutely not.” Jemma crossed her arms, mimicking his stubborn posture. “Fitz, you need some rest.”

“But I’m _bored_ ,” he whined.

“You’re also sick and today, that’s taking precedence. Besides, I don’t want your sickly germs in my lab,” she said as an afterthought, while she mentally checked everything he might possibly need –meds, water, snacks, tissues, various means of entertainment– was within his reach.

“ _Our_ lab!” His yelp of outrage soon degenerated into a coughing fit.

“Our lab,” Jemma amended, patting his shoulder awkwardly. He shrugged her hand away.

“Why do _you_ get to decide?” Fitz asked, changing tactics. “You’re not a medical doctor.”

Knowing better than to engage, Jemma towered over him and pointed a menacing finger at him.

“Don’t make me ask Skye to disable your wifi.”

"You _wouldn’t_!”

“Want to try me?” Her mouth curled into the dare-ya smile Fitz had learned to fear.

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, Jemma ultimately winning their quiet battle of will.

“ _Fine_.” His head dramatically fell back on the pillow. “But I’m waiting ‘till you’re gone to watch the last episode of Doctor Who.”

“If it’s the price I have to pay,” Jemma conceded with a heartfelt eyeroll.


	16. I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jsimmonss.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

"I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else," Fitz said cautiously before he dared to look at her through his fingers. It took everything he had to train his eyes on her face– and keep them there.

If Jemma ever dared to lecture him on his lack of willpower again…

"But I’m _hot_ ," she whined grudgingly, gesturing up and down herself. She seemed to believe it was a reasonable explanation as to why she was wearing an open lab coat, her socks, and nothing else.

Fitz let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Jemma." As he felt his self-control slipping away, he closed his eyes tightly shut. "Either you made a mistake–"

"I don’t make mistakes!" she huffed indignantly.

"Okay, then. Clearly someone tampered with your samples and dosed you with– something. It must be a prank, a bad one, and believe me when I say we _will_ get revenge."

"Someone pranked me?" Jemma asked, knitting her eyebrows together. " _Me_? Why would they? I’m the _best_."

" _This_. I believe this is why," Fitz informed her between gritted teeth.

"Do they hate me because I’m the best?" she asked with such obvious dismay, his irritation instantly melted away to nothing.

"I don’t believe anyone could ever hate you," he said, his voice soft. He tentatively opened his eye again, just in time to see Jemma pounce as she all but tackled him, knocking down a row of test tubes as she did.

She did feel hot, he had to admit. So much so, he felt like he was on the verge of self-combustion himself.

"Erm, Jemma?" He found it difficult to think clearly when his head was filled with the sound of blood rushing down. "Please let go of me."

"Why?"

"Because I– you're–" He heaved a sigh. "Could you at least button your lab coat, please?"


	17. Do you always sleep naked?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Do you always sleep naked?” Jemma asked in a timid voice as she scooted further away toward the edge of the bed.

“Erm, yes?” He couldn’t look at her, not when his ears were already so hot he was beginning to worry about permanent damaged.

“Oh.” She sounded as mortified as he felt.

Clinging to a faint surge of hope, he patted around the floor by his side in case he found some discarded clothes within grabbing distance, but no such luck.

He tried to will his brain into functioning properly again –there were urgent tactical decisions to make. His underwear drawer was about three ample steps away from the bed, and in other circumstances, he may have gone for it but… maybe not so soon after waking up in the morning.

_Certainly_ not after waking up to find Jemma curled up against him.

He hadn’t thought of that little detail in the middle of the night when she’d let herself in, shaken from a nightmare, her cheeks streaked with tears. All he could do then was wrap himself into his sheet as discreetly as he could, and welcome her in.

“I’ll, uh, go back to my room to shower,” she announced, getting to her feet.

Unable to resist, he looked up at her then. His breath caught when he noticed that every visible inch of her skin was flushed bright red, and how _alarmingly tight_ her tank top seemed to  be –which didn’t help matter one bit.

“Fitz?”

“Mmh?” That top was _really_ tight. It couldn’t be comfortable, could it? He would never find sleep in something so constricting. Perhaps he should suggest–

“Up here,” she ground out, crossing her arms before her chest.

A new wave of embarrassment hit him smack in the face. “Sorry.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, looking down. “For last night.”

“Don’t mention it.”

(The moment she left, he went and strategically placed a pair of boxers and a long-sleeved t-shirt under his bed, just in case.)


	18. I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else (REDUX).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Leggy–peggy and Tashonix, who asked for an extended version of Chapter 16.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

Fitz all but sprinted to the lab, mentally preparing for a thorough chiding. Jemma had _no chill_ when it came to their lab schedule. With finals looming closer, every Academy student was desperate for any extra time to wrap up their project, and as it turned out, Jemma Simmons wasn’t the most forgiving person when you came between her and her precious homework.

“Sorry I’m late,” he huffed, before dropping his backpack on the floor. “I swear I tried not to intervene, but it was driving me insane. I could teach that electronics class in my sleep and still do a better job th–”

The sentence suddenly died on his lips when he looked up and took in Jemma’s rather _unusual_ attire. His mouth fell open as he gaped stupidly, unable to form a sentence or do anything other than blink at rapid intervals.

He could see… Well, _everything_.

There had to be an explanation for this. Unfortunately, the only thing he could think of at the moment was making his brain short-circuit so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was currently coming out of his ears.

When at long last, he seemed to regain some control over his limbs, he quickly slapped a hand in front of his eyes.

Jemma _giggled_.

“Jemma.” He gulped as he searched for a proper phrasing for his question. “Are you… trying to seduce me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” He couldn’t see her face, of course, but her voice sounded as bright as ever.

“What– Why are you…wearing… this?”

“What are you talking about?” He could practically feel her crinkling her nose and raising her eyebrows. “Lab safety is paramount, Fitz. Surely you’ve heard that one or twice before?”

“Lab safe–” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “ _Of course._ ”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jemma sing-sung. It was extremely disconcerting. In face, Fitz was certain he’d never seen her so relaxed and accommodating in the two years they’d known each other.

_Wait…_

“I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else,“ Fitz said cautiously before he dared to look at her through his fingers. It took everything he had to train his eyes on her face– and keep them there.

If Jemma ever dared to lecture him on his lack of willpower again…

“But I’m hot,” she whined grudgingly, gesturing up and down herself. She seemed to believe it was a reasonable explanation as to why she was wearing an open lab coat, her socks, and nothing else.

Fitz let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Jemma.” As he felt his self-control slipping away, he closed his eyes tightly shut. “Either you made a mistake–”

“I don’t make mistakes!” she huffed indignantly.

“Okay, then. Clearly someone tampered with your samples and dosed you with– something. It must be a prank, a bad one, and believe me when I say we will get revenge.”

“Someone pranked me?” Jemma asked, knitting her eyebrows together. “Me? Why would they? I’m the best.”

“This. I believe this is why,” Fitz informed her between gritted teeth.

“Do they hate me because I’m the best?” she asked with such obvious dismay, his irritation instantly melted away to nothing.

“I don’t believe anyone could ever hate you,” he said, his voice soft. He tentatively opened his eye again, just in time to see Jemma pounce as she all but tackled him, knocking down a row of test tubes as she did.

She did feel hot, he had to admit. So much so, he felt like he was on the verge of self-combustion himself.

“Erm, Jemma?” He found it difficult to think clearly when his head was filled with the sound of blood rushing down. “Please let go of me.”

“Why?”

“Because I– you're–” He heaved a sigh. “Could you at least button your lab coat, please?”

She took a step back and squinted at him. “But _I don’t want to_ ,” she replied, sounding mildly annoyed.

“Of course you don’t.” Fitz rubbed at his eyes before pivoting on his feet and putting some much needed space between them. He planted his fists on his hips and tried to ignore her so he could _think_.

The crux of the matter was that she’d been dosed with an unknown substance and left to her own device in the lab. She could have had a number of accidents, seriously harmed herself.

The more he thought about it, the more incensed he grew. “We should get you checked at the infirmary,” he announced decisively. “Preferably now.”

“I’m not sick,” she countered stubbornly.

Fitz tried to channel all the patience he’d never had. “You’re not well, either.”

“I feel fine!”

“Do you really need to fight me on everything?” He asked exasperatedly, turning to scold her with the force of his glare.

“Well, yes, if you’re going to be unreasonable.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts and stood defiantly, waiting for his next barb. But whatever he might have said next was lost to oblivion.

“I think _I_ might need to go to the infirmary,” he said faintly. He was feeling distinctly light-headed all of the sudden. Perhaps the toxin was airborne?

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve tested my last sample." 

He could tell by her tone that she meant it, too.

(It took her 46 minutes to complete her tests and another 9 minutes to be convinced to put on some pants, after which Fitz took a very long shower, ignoring her protestations that it should wait until they were done with their chemical kinetics homework.)


	19. I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Wakandandperthshire.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I will knock you on your ass if you even think about it,” Jemma threatened with a pointed glare.

Fitz scoffed. “I would like to see you try.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Jemma turned to stare him up and down, lifting a defiant eyebrow for good measure.

They’d been having the same conversation on loop for the past hour, as Jemma studiously wrote her paper while Fitz only vaguely attempted to work on his –his notes from the last lecture were incomplete, to put it lightly.

“ _Come on,_ ” Fitz whined, before he dramatically fell back on her perfectly made bed. “Let me see yours. Just this once.”

“Maybe you’ll think twice before falling asleep in class again,” she sing-sang, valiantly ignoring his theatrics.

“It’s not my fault if Professor Vaughn’s voice is the most soporific sound known to man.”

“Well, some us manage just fine!”

“Okay, where are they?” Fitz demanded as he bounced up from the bed once more. “I know you have another set somewhere. You always print an extra copy. Just in case,” he finished in a snappy English accent.

He crossed the room and started rummaging through the neatly organised files on her bookshelf.

“Stop!” Jemma shrieked in outrage. “I mean it, Fitz! Stop right there!”

“Or what? Oh, right, you’ll knock me on my ass,” he chuckled derisively as he kept going.

Jemma jumped to her feet and tried to pull him away from her meticulously arranged archives. She was stronger than she looked, but he still had the advantage.

“I’m serious,” she bellowed, “this is not okay!”

Fitz didn’t know what made him continue to provoke her this way. She was right, of course, it was not okay. It had been happening more and more lately, and he had no idea why making her irate was so oddly satisfying –all he knew was that once he started, he didn’t know how to stop.

She glared up at him with such fire in her eyes he felt the burn travelling down his body in a flash and suddenly, he stopped resisting her pull.

Jemma lost her balance and went careening backward, tripping over her own foot until she fell  awkwardly across her bed –with Fitz lying flat on top of her.

He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? His airway wasn’t obstructed.

Jemma seemed to be having the same trouble, if her rapidly heaving chest was any indication. Their eyes met, hers still flaming, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from sliding lower and settling on her parted lips.

“Fitz?” Her voice was unsteady and weird, almost a whimper, and it snapped him right out of his trance.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he scrambled away. His face felt hot right up to the root of his hair. “I’ll… I’ll ask someone else for the notes,” he mumbled, before he all but ran away.


	20. There was never a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“There was never a choice,” Fitz said softly, kissing the top of her head.

“Of course there was.” Jemma moved closer, her back pressing firmly against his chest, and stared ahead to the shimmering light. “You could have done what literally _everyone_ expected of you, and stopped looking for me.”

“I tried that for about half a minute,” he shrugged. “Didn’t like it much.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you, you know? If you’d moved on.”

Fitz gulped past the lump in his throat. Even now, when she stood half naked in his arms on a balcony overlooking a fine sand paradise, the thought that he might have gone on to live the rest of his life without her made him feel cold and hopeless.

He cleared his throat. “I wish you didn’t have to think about all that everytime you watch the sun rise.”

“They’re happy thoughts, though,” she assured him, before turning to place a kiss on his stubbled jaw. “Thoughts of coming home with you.“

As the first rays of sunshine hit the beach, Fitz couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to those terrifying might-have-beens. As if she could sense his thoughts souring, Jemma turned to caress his cheek, a playful gleam to her eyes.

“It’s too early for breakfast,” she noted. “Do you think we’ll find a way to keep busy until then?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, biting a grin. “We could always catch up with our work emails. I’m sure Coulson–”

She kissed him soundly then, molding her body to his, and proceeded to pull him back inside with her.

“Or not,” he said against her mouth, only too happy to let her distract him.


	21. I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?” Jemma offered, tying up her hair in a loose knot.

Fitz frowned. “But it’s dark outside.”

Jemma gazed out the open window. The air was warm and the sea looked quiet and inviting. There were only two days left before they had to fly back to the playground, and she wasn’t leaving this place without taking a night swim at least once.

She grabbed her beach towel and slipped on her discarded sundress. 

“The water must be in the mid 80° at night this time of the year.”

“If you say so,” he replied dubiously.

He followed her, albeit reluctantly. The beach was surprisingly deserted, theirs for a few moments. Jemma kicked off her flip-flops to feel the cool sand under the sole of her feet, and hummed happily.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said, gazing to the dark blue horizon, before she neatly laid out her towel on the sand, ignoring the shapeless lump made by Fitz’s.  Aware of his gaze intently set on her, she let her dress fall to her feet and took a few steps forward, just enough for the water to lick her ankles. It wasn’t warm, exactly, but it would do.

She looked around to ensure they were still alone, and untied her bikini top.

“Jemma,” Fitz croaked, “what are you doing?”

“Ever heard of skinny-dipping?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Fitz made a face, the same face he made every time she managed to shock him, and stood motionless as she stretched, his eyes no longer on her face.

“It’s okay,” she laughed, sliding her last scrap of clothing down her legs and throwing it toward their towels. “You don’t have to do it.”

When he didn’t reply, she stepped further into sea, her body covering with goosebumps. Once she was in up to her waist, she counted to three in her head and kneeled down, gasping at the chill.

When she jumped back up, a pair of strong arms encircled her.

“You make quite a picture,” Fitz said huskily, as his eyes followed the travel of a droplet rolling down her neck and lower, lower still.

When he looked up and she met his dark, burning gaze, her breath caught in her throat. He dipped his head to kiss her hungrily, bringing on a shiver that had little to do with the cool breeze hitting her wet skin.

“I’ve had my night swim,” she muttered against his lips. “Let’s go back to the room.”


	22. I need you to leave.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Agentsofnothing  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I need you to leave,” Fitz stated in a panic.

“Really, Fitz, it’s _nothing_ to be ashamed about,” Jemma said desperately, her voice shrill and shaky. “It’s _perfectly_ normal. _Everybody_ mas–”

“I’m serious, Jemma,” Fitz squeaked, pulling the cover even higher, up to his chin. “I need you to leave _right now_.”

“It’s basic _biology_ , really,” she continued, taking a step closer instead of running far, far away as he kept begging her to.

Fitz let out a moan of pure mortification. His face and ears felt uncomfortably hot with shame, but his treacherous body refused to acknowledge how utterly humiliating his predicament was and to react accordingly.

“Jemma,” he said very slowly, as if addressing an unreasonable child. “I’m naked. I'm– I'm– aroused,” he continued, wincing. “Will you please, _please_ leave me alone?”

“ _Oh_ ,” she straightened, her own face reddening as she finally looked ready to retreat.  "Yes. Yes, of course.“

She stopped before she reached the door, and said, “Unless…”

“ _Unless_?” Fitz creaked.

“No, no forget it.” Jemma energetically shook her head. “It’s probably a bad idea.”

 _Don’t,_ he told himself. _Don’t ask. Save yourself_. “What kind of idea?”

“Well,” she started, kicking the door shut. “Remember how we’re better together?”


	23. Teach me to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jemmaslittlemonkey.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Teach me to fight,” Jemma repeated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“ _Me_?” Fitz’s features contorted into a full-face frown. “I’m hardly the most qualified person–”

“You’ve been training though, haven’t you?”

“Well–” He felt a distinct thrill, knowing that she’d noticed, and felt himself blush.

“It’s just that… I trust you,” she continued. “But if you’re not comfortable training with me, I suppose I could ask Daisy, or Lincoln, or–”

“ _No_.” His reply was firm and immediate. For all her good intentions, Daisy tended to get carried away, and the thought of Lincoln throwing Jemma’s small body around made him feel sick to his stomach. “I’ll do it.”

***

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Fitz,” Jemma huffed with frustration after twenty minutes of completely pointless ‘training’. Fitz handled her with about as much force as he’d use to fight a limping toddler.

“I know,” he answered with a sigh.

He should never have agreed to this. It was clearly a _terrible_ idea.

Things had been tense between them ever since he’d came back from Maveth. She was coming to term with Will’s death and he was trying to get over his goddamn feelings for her. 

The more space between them, the better.   
  
“I’m not going to break!” Jemma all but stomped, incensed that he was being so careful with her.

“Okay,” Fitz nodded, although he knew he sounded as dubious as he felt. Was she _not_ going to break, really? She was frail, much more than he’d even seen her, stick-thin and pale and just– _fragile-looking_. Did she really expect him to try and hurt her for real?  
  
“Then let’s.“ She shoved him, hard. “Do.” She pushed him again. “This.” And again.

He bore the blows without moving an inch back and she kept going, looking increasingly agitated.

“Fight me,” she demanded, punching his chest.

“Jemma.” He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she shook him off.

“ _Fight. Me._ ” She charged at him with all her strength but he stopped her easily, which only upset her further.

“No.” He shook his head, feeling his own eyes prickle. “Not like this.”

She finally collapsed against him, sobbing. He eased them both down until they were seating on the mat, and gathered her in his arms. Fitz held her, stroking her back until she was all cried out.

When at long last she breathed a shaky sigh, he disentangled from her just enough to look her in the eye.

He gave her a tentative half-smile. “Still want to fight?“ 

“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, chuckling weakly. “Do you want to have dinner?”

He felt a spark of pleasant surprise. “With you?“ 

” _Yes_ , Fitz, with me,“ she replied with the semi-exasperated tone she seemed to save just for him. 

“I’m starving,” he informed her with a genuine grin.

Jemma only rolled her eyes. “What else is new.”


	24. Kiss me, quick!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Hailhydrating and Reymanova.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Kiss me, quick!” Jemma was slightly panting as she came hurtling around the corner.

Fitz’s eyes opened wide. “What? Wh-”

Jemma didn’t give him time to argue. She just grabbed his arm, gave it a sharp tug, and plastered her mouth to his.

As kiss went, this one was hardly life-changing. It was just a dry press of lips, with no heat or passion. She’d taken him completely by surprise and a few moments passed before he could register what was happening, and think to react. When he did, at long last, his lizard brain took over in a snap. Three seconds later, he had her pressed against the wall and they were blissfully, ardently kissing for real.

It was her turn to be somewhat taken aback, but as soon as the initial shock faded, she wined her arms around his torso and pulled him even closer.

Fitz became vaguely aware of several students snickering as they walked past them down the hallway, but he didn’t even consider disentangling from her. If Jemma Simmons wanted to be kissed, he would oblige – _gladly_.

It was probably a dream, anyway. All of Fitz’s most interesting ones usually started along these lines.

He only let her go, an unquantifiable amount of time later, when he felt an insistent tap against his shoulder. When his eyes met Jemma’s, she looked about as dazed as he felt, and her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink.

“So, it’s true,” Milton exclaimed from behind him in his grating, nasal voice. “You two have finally seen the light.”

“Erm, yes, _finally_ ,” Fitz gritted, his eyes still intent on Jemma, who was silently begging him to play along.

“Oh well, my loss is your gain, I suppose.” Milton let out a chuckle, his enormous head bobbing left and right. “I was of the mind to ask this one out again, but alas!”

“Alas,” Jemma repeated with a weak smile. Suddenly, she slid her hand in Fitz’s, as if it was the most normal thing to do. He had to admit the contact was surprisingly pleasant.

“Although I can’t say I’m surprised,” Milton continued, undeterred, “what with all the rumours.”

At that, Fitz stiffened at once. “Rumors? What rumors?”

“Well, you two have been spending all your waking moments together. Joined at the hip, you are. Or is it the frontal lobe?” Milton chortled at his own feeble joke. “Besides, when Jem and I were together, your name would pop up at the most inconvenient–”

“It hardly matters now, does it?” Jemma interjected, eyes wide.

“I guess,” Milton conceded. “But you must admit, it’s only natural to conjecture that you two have had a long-standing arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” Fitz repeated in disbelief.

“You know,” Milton wiggled his eyebrows. “An _arrangement_.”

“Well, we don’t.” Fitz replied shortly. “We’re together _together_ , so I’d appreciate if you would abstain from defaming my girlfriend.”

_Girlfriend_. It felt so _odd_ to say the word aloud.

“Don’t mention it,” Milton clapped his shoulder hard enough that Fitz staggered. “I’ll pass the word along!”

And with that, Milton went on his way. Alone again in the now empty hallway, Jemma let out a shaky breath while Fitz leaned heavily against the wall.

“Sorry,” she winced self-consciously. “He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“How long do you think it will take before the entire student body takes it upon itself to celebrate our engagement?”

“Until lunch break, perhaps?”

“Right.”

They would never hear the end of it. Hell, Fitz wouldn’t be surprised if they landed a full page article in The Daily Cadet.  _Although…_  It abruptly occurred to him that they might need to keep the charade up for some time –which meant more surprise hand-holding and, certainly, more enthusiastic hallway kissing.

Fitz’s mood instantly improved tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma repeated, rubbing his arm comfortingly.

“It’s okay,” he said with a dramatic sigh –it would not do to look too happy about the ordeal. “Glad I can be of help.”


	25. What the hell are you wearing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Aretsuna.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Fitz stopped short as he passed her bedroom door and intently looked her up and down.

Jemma finished putting on her earrings before she made a show of looking inquisitively down at herself. Yes, it was a new dress. Yes, even on her small stature, it was almost scandalously short.

 _That_ was what she was reduced to to get his attention.

“A dress?” She squinted at him in feigned dumbfoundedness.

Fitz’s frowned deepened. “Are you _sure_ it’s a dress?”

“Yes, Fitz, I’m quite sure,” she replied, schooling her features into an impatient pout.

Well, at least he’d _noticed_. He didn’t look very appreciative, but she’d been afraid he might look right past her, as he so often did. Did it count as a win?

“Because it looks like a shirt,” Fitz continued, staring down her bare legs.

She could _feel_ his eyes on her skin, and it was downright thrilling.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the way he valued her intelligence above all else. Even in circles such as theirs, many people tended to underestimate her because of her sex, and Fitz had never been one of them.

But sometimes… Well, sometimes, she just wished he would objectify her a little.

“Well, it’s not.” Jemma crossed her arms over her chest and matched his stubborn glare.

Meanwhile, Fitz planted himself firmly in the doorway, as if he was readying himself to block her exit, if necessary. “I really think you’re supposed to wear pants with that,” he insisted.

Jemma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You can borrow it from me tomorrow and wear it however you please,” she suggested, her tone snide.

“But–” His expression turned pleading. “People are going to _look_. And– and– have _thoughts_.”

“That would be truly tragic,” she said disinterestedly as she savored his words.

Was he having _thoughts_? Was he having them right now? Because he was certainly _looking_.

Jemma’s heart picked up with excitement.

“Would it really _not_ bother you?” He sounded shocked. Appalled, even.

Jemma felt yet another pang of disappointment. Men were supposed to be simple. _Predictable_. You flashed a little skin, and they leered and drooled and just generally got on with the program.

But Fitz was something else entirely. No matter how many overtures she threw his way, he usually frowned, scolded, and ultimately stomped back to his room without a backward glance. It was _infuriating_.

If she knew for a fact that he wasn’t interested, she would have long stopped trying. But then, there was the way he looked at her when he thought he could get away with it…

“What, that someone might notice that I’m a _girl_?” She couldn’t help the shrill tone of her voice. “No, Fitz. It wouldn’t bother me.”

His mouth fell open then, and he looked at her face intently as he pondered his reply.

“You think that _I don’t notice_?”

He said it with such utter disbelief Jemma almost did a double-take.

“I–” All the air instantly left her lungs. There it was, the look she wasn’t supposed to see. His blue eyes looked much darker as they bore into hers with intense focus, and he seemed to be breathing a little rapidly, as she was.

“Because I notice,” he informed her, taking a step in her direction.

At once, she felt odd crowded, although they was still much space between them. Unwittingly, she took a step back, which only seemed to urge Fitz to keep advancing on her.

“Well, good,” Jemma said faintly, her voice trembling with sudden nerves as her back hit the dresser.

“Does that–” Fitz stilled and cleared his throat to stop his voice from breaking. “Did you _want_ me to notice?”

“Maybe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Everything after that was a blur. When he was properly motivated, Fitz moved fast. Within seconds, his mouth was on hers while his hands gripped her waist tightly. As she plastered hersemf to him, her ridiculously short dress rode up her thighs.

***

After what felt like hours of frantic, exquisite, _exhilarating_ making out, Fitz suddenly pulled away, raising his head from the pillow to look at her quizzically.

“Didn’t you have somewhere to go?”

“What?” Jemma managed to ask, when all she really wanted to say was _‘Why the hell did you stop?’_

“You were all dressed up,” he provided.

“Oh.” She tried to remember, but her mind was hazy, clouded with endorphins. Something about having a drink with classmates… “It was nothing important,” she shrugged.

 _‘Besides,’_ she thought, _'there’s nowhere I’d rather be.’_

“Really?” His eyes were sparkling with joy and –smugness?

Wait. Had she just said that _out loud_?

“I mean,” Jemma tried to swiftly backpedal, “I was tired anyway and–”

“Oh, I heard you fine the first time,” he chuckled, trapping her under his body before she could escape.

“No, really–”

“Would you rather argue?” Fitz asked, looking positively gleeful. “Or resume–”

She didn’t give him time to finish the sentence.

It was a strategic decision, really. Her best bet at this point was to properly melt his brain and make him forget all about her little slip.

And if she failed… It still counted as a win, didn’t it?


	26. You were never just my friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For agentsofs-h-i-e-l-d.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“You were never _just_ my friend.” Jemma’s voice is a warm murmur in the dark, one that echoes in his head like a thousand bells.

It’s their fifth or sixth night together, some of them so short they barely qualify, and each one seems to bring on new unprompted confessions, spoken in soft muttered words while the other gently slides into sleep.

For now, they’re barely grazing the surface of their complicated history. The closest Fitz has come to touching upon their truly defining moments is telling her how small and cold her hand felt when he reached for her through the dust of an unknown planet and held on for dear life. It doesn’t matter. They have time now, all the time they want to give each other.

If his mind wasn’t so hazy, his spent body heavy with exhaustion, he would certainly give her a dubious look and press her for details, but he knows she’s expecting him not to argue. She’s not initiating a conversation but offering him a present, and he long ago vowed to accept anything she was willing to give him.

“You were never just a partner, or just the person I wanted to talk to at the end of the day, or just the only human being I happened to trust. You were never _just_ anything.”

She resettles her head on his chest and grazes his stubbled jaw with the tip of her nails, a simple caress that makes him want to purr.

“From the moment we met, you were the person I most wanted to impress, and the only one whose opinion truly mattered. I wasted years because I was scared of disrupting our equilibrium, but I could never like anyone quite the way I like you. Everything else is subsidiary.”

If she says any more, he doesn’t hear it. As his consciousness fades, he feels the words ricochet endlessly in his chest, his body anchored by her face weighing on his heart.


	27. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. _That’s_ the problem.”

The words rushed unexpectedly out of Fitz’s mouth before he could stop them, shocking both Jemma and himself. Whatever biting remark she was about to speak was now lost in the vibrating silence settling between them.

Her stunned amber eyes widened in shock before they locked on him unblinkingly, while the air around him swiftly rarefied. His hands were trembling –his entire being felt shaky with nerves and adrenaline, his heart stuck somewhere near his throat.

“What– what did you just say?” she asked in a reedy voice, and something abruptly snapped within him. He couldn’t be here, he couldn’t face her like this, not when he’d given himself away so pathetically.

The lab was empty but for the two of them, just the way he liked it, but Fitz had never wanted for anything as ardently as he craved a redeeming interruption just then.

“Don’t make me say it again, alright?” His voice was audibly seething with anger –at himself, always at himself.

He slapped his notebook shut and averted his eyes, locking them on a faraway spot by the door behind which he would give anything to teleport himself.

Bloody hell, what a hopeless moron he was. What did it matter if she thought he hated her? He could handle her coldness and distrust just fine. Her pity, on the other hand…

“Fitz–” The panic in her voice cut him like a knife. _Of course_ she would be horrified by his unrequited attention.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice sharp and bleak. He paused to rub his palms over his eyes until they stopped prickling. “I’ll ask Weaver to assign us new partners. I’m sure that every single cadet in here would kill to be paired with you–”

“No!” she screeched, shaking her head frantically. “It’s too late to switch! We’re too far ahead to start over, we’d never make the deadline!”  She grabbed his hand and held on, refusing to let go when he tried to shake her away. “Look, I’m sorry I brought this up. I never meant to make you– uneasy.”

_Uneasy_. Yeah, that was one way to frame it, Fitz thought, chuckling humorlessly.

Her eyes desperately pleaded with him. “Can we please find a way to keep working together? Please?”

He gulped. She was right, of course. If they switched partners now, they would waste an eternity playing catch-up and fall irreparably behind. Not to mention, he would never find a suitable replacement for her. Simmons was the brightest student in their year by far. 

Disgruntled, he nodded almost imperceptibly. As he evaded her expectant stare –how would he ever look her in the eye again?– his gaze fell on her scattered notes. Her handwriting was neat and elegant, the exact opposite of his barely legible scribbles. Did she have to be so bloody perfect all the time?

(It took weeks for Fitz’s untimely confession to stop shadowing over them, and a few months passed before they both forgotten about it completely –or feigned to.)


	28. Why the hell are you in my shower?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.  
> [Send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

“Why the hell are you in my shower?” Jemma screeches over the sound of spraying water.

“I tried to fix mine but there was some unforeseen– will you turn around please?” Fitz implores. Both his hands are covering his dignity while the water keeps hitting the back of his neck.

She _should_. She would, if she could only get her body to obey, but her brain has short-circuited when it was unexpectedly presented with a naked Fitz and now refuses to respond appropriately. Instead of averting her eyes, she lets them roam down the expanse of pale skin offered to her view.

He looks so very different now. She’s noticed that before, of course, she would have been blind not to. But she had not realized just _how_ different.

It’s the first time she sees him entirely naked, but the Academy has an Olympic pool and she’s seen him in swim shorts quite a few times. She recognizes the shape of his belly button, the thin line of hair circling around his nipples, and is a little shocked at herself –she had no idea she’d been paying that much attention.

When her eyes travel back up again, they meet his electric blue gaze and the air starts crackling.

It’s difficult to reconcile the man standing naked before her with the boy barely out of childhood she keeps expecting to see when she looks at him. But it’s still Fitz, her beloved Fitz, although his jaw seems squarer now it’s covered with bristle, and his body looks intriguingly fuller.

For a few insane moments, she considers stripping naked and joining him.

“Jemma,” he warns, unamused, “if you don’t leave right now, I’ll barge in when you’re in there and you least expect it.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, and her voice is trembling, not quite conveying the outrage she’s expected to show.

She doesn’t know what to make of the thrill of anticipation brought on by his threat.


	29. Why the hell are you in my shower? (Cont.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For contemplativeeyes. Please note this is probably NSFW (I'm terrible at judging of these things -different culture bias and all).  
> As always, [send me a sentence](http://chinese-bakery.tumblr.com/ask) here, anonymously or not, and I'll write the minific that follows.

* * *

It isn’t until he’s confronted with a real, live, _naked_ Jemma Simmons that Fitz understands he’s made a terrible miscalculation. Whatever petty revenge he’d hoped to exact by barging in her bathroom becomes entirely meaningless when he’s faced with her pale skin glistening with droplets of water.

She lets out a piercing scream of surprise before she pieces things together and take them in stride –that’s his Jemma, always the brightest person in the room. One of her hands flies to the apex of her thighs, while the other comes to rest over her chest. The slight press of her arm precariously protecting her modesty only serves to emphasize the swell of her breasts, rather than to withdraw it from view.

The taunting words he has longed to speak all day swiftly die on his lips.

It takes a superhuman effort to keep his eyes on her face, and he’s never felt so weak in his life.

While he’s frozen and dumbstruck with the sudden realisation that all he’s about to achieve is to humiliate himself further, it only takes her a few seconds to devise a strategy.

Something passes in her eyes, something frankly alarming –he knows that look, it usually precedes a rash decision caused by her overwhelming curiosity and her taste for experimentation. This time is no exception.

Jemma tilts her chin up in with defiance –it’s subtle, but not so subtle that he doesn’t come to dread what happens next– and then she lets her hands gently fall at her sides.

He can tell she’s trembling, but there’s no knowing if it’s from instant regret or nerves or something else.

This time, there’s no helping his eyes gliding over her, counting her freckles, memorizing every plane and curve. He wonders what his life is going to be like when he’s done committing her to memory. How he’s supposed to function.

If only looking was enough. His lips crave to taste her, to nip at the puckered tips of her breasts and to test the softness of the skin between her thighs.

Though he’s been standing still, Fitz is running out of breath, his heart thundering madly from the effort to keep up with her devastating effect on his biology.

_This is not what best friends do._

“Jemma,” he pants –it’s the only thing he can think to say. If she ordered him to leave now, he would go without a second of hesitation. He’s more afraid of what will happen if she doesn’t.

Instead, she raises a hand and holds it up in invitation.

They should talk, he knows, but he’s so far past all capacity to reason or verbalize.

Fitz takes a hesitant step forward, then another.

He’s aware of the stream of water hitting his shoulder, of the way his sogging clothes cling heavily to one side his body. 

Everything else is a blur, but her.


	30. I can’t do this anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Roughlycut.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Fitz’s voice comes out hoarse with unuse after the three days he’s spent locked alone in the lab, taking naps in his desk chair when his eyes wouldn’t stay open, and subsisting on Bobbi’s sandwiches and chocolate bars from the vending machine.

This last disappointment, coming on the heels of so many other disappointments, might very well be his undoing. 

“I know, mate.“ 

Fitz’s room is a mess, with scattered files and discarded clothes everywhere. There are pieces of a recently smashed mug in the corner. 

When Fitz first gave up all pretenses of taking care of himself, Bobbi would come around once in a while to clean up after him. Fitz has since let her know in no uncertain term what he thought of her mothering him. 

Hunter slides down the wall to sit on the floor next to him and hands him one of the two shot glasses he’s brought along. Fitz grabs it wordlessly, his gaze fixed on the wall ahead of him.

“I really thought it was _it_ , this time,” he rasps before downing the whiskey Lance has just poured for them both. 

Hunter doesn’t answer. It’s been three months since Jemma disappeared and they’re not an inch closer to finding her than they were on the first night.

Coulson is getting angsty, and Bobbi has lost hope. Daisy’s been convinced Jemma was lost to them from the moment they first watched the surveillance images, but she loves Fitz too much to tell him so.

In this predicament, Fitz’s limitless mind is a blessing and a curse. There’s no doubt for Hunter that he’ll never give up. There’ll always be a next theory, a new slither of hope. Coulson is a damn fool for not seeing as much. He’s never getting his genius scientist back, not unless Fitz finds his missing half again.

“You’ll think of something else,” Hunter finally says as he refills their glasses. “You always do.”


	31. We shouldn’t be doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jemmamaximoff

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Fitz muttered against her lips as he tightened his grip on her waist.

The sequence of events that had led them there was fuzzy. If someone were to ask how he and Jemma Simmons, his bitter rival and sworn enemy, had come to snog the breath out of each other in a deserted hallway while the entire student body was busy celebrating the end of term in the Boiler Room, he wouldn’t have had the first clue how to answer.

“I know,” she conceded, and took a nip at his lower lip. “But is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

“Good point.” He gasped as he felt her cold hand untuck his shirt from his pants and creeping up his back, which was simultaneously exhilarating and a serious cause for concern.

“That’s it? You’re not going to fight me on this?” Jemma teased.

Fitz tore his mouth away from hers to give her a puzzled look. “Did you want me to?”

“No, no.” Jemma kissed her way up his neck, eliciting a series of little sighs and shivers. His body’s response to her every touch was downright embarrassing. “I’m just unused to you agreeing with me on anything, is all.”

_That_ stopped him cold. “Are you seriously going to pretend that _I_ ’m the difficult one? After the entire labelling incident?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Mr. The-absence-of-a-system-still-is-a-system,” she scoffed.

“I’m not apologizing for not sharing your unhealthy compulsions–”

“My unhealthy compulsions allowed me to score two PhDs before the age of 16–”

“Do you get a third one for telling everyone about it on a daily basis? Because I’ve heard about that so often–”

“Well, I’m sorry if you find my scholarly accomplishments to be emasculating–”

“Emasculating!”

His strangled cry seemed to bring the incoming avalanche of retorts to a screeching halt. Meanwhile, Fitz was slightly alarmed to observe that he was, in fact, far from being emasculated. Their argument had not impacted his vigor in the least. Quite the opposite, actually.

They stared at each other silently for a few beats, their chests heaving with ragged breath.

“Fitz?” Her voice was trembling, but he couldn’t tell if she really was upset.

He cleared his throat, feeling a sense of despair looming over him at the thought that this inexplicable accident between was coming to an end. 

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” she ordered, before latching onto his mouth with a renewed ardor.


	32. Whatever you say, Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Inevitablyfitzsimmons.

Fitz was hard at work on his quantum physics paper –with 14 hours left before it was due, it was about time he got started– when the door to his dorm room burst open and an irate Jemma Simmons barged in, with her hair wild and her eyes shooting daggers at him. It wasn't an unusual look for her when they happened to find themselves in the same room, but she looked even more high strung than usual.

"I know what you did," she clipped, the word dripping acid. "I should report you. I'm really considering it this time. You've gone too far!"

"What the  _ hell  _ are you talking about, Simmons?"

"My  _ research paper!"  _ she barked. "It's gone! Deleted and overwritten  _ 20 bloody times. _ I know, because the software was still running by the time I got to my room."

"That sounds… bad," he said lamely, rubbing at the back of his head.

"It's a little late to grow a conscience,  _ Leopold!" _ she shouted, her voice thick with anger.

She couldn't seriously suspect him of doing something that low, could she? Sure, they weren't exactly on good terms, and he wasn't above playing a little prank on her every once in a while. The competition between them was ruthless, to say the least, but he expected to win their little race by being the incontestable  _ best _ , not by resorting to something as pathetic as sabotaging his rival's work. 

Frankly, it stung quite a bit that she couldn't see that.

"Whatever you say, Sherlock," he said, annoyed at himself for being offended. Why should he care what Jemma bloody Simmons thought of him?

"Did you keep a copy?" she asked in a tiny, shaky voice. She looked close to tears know, her distress evident. It tugged at… something he didn't care to examine too closely. 

Fitz huffed a long-suffering sigh.

"I didn't do this, Jemma. I swear," he said softly, realising too late he'd called her by her first name, possibly for the first time ever. It felt weird, addressing her this way. As if they were friends. 

She shrugged, her lips trembling.

"Look," Fitz said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling he was about to regret ever making the offer, but the look of her… he couldn't bear it. "I just started working on mine–"

"But it's due tomorrow morning!" she gasped, shocked that he hadn't written it on the day the essay was assigned, like she had, no doubt.

"I'm aware of that, thanks." He rolled his eyes impatiently. "Maybe we could... work together? It might help jog your memory. It's all in your head, till, I'm sure you can write it all over again before morning.

"It– it's absurd," she said, but there wasn't much conviction behind it. "Why would you even want to do that? You hate me."

"I don't  _ hate  _ you," he countered immediately. "Exactly." He didn't like her much either but it was–  _ complicated _ . "Come on, Simmons. What are your other options?"

She pretended to mull it over for a while, but her posture relaxed and her eyes dried up. When she finally nodded, a familiar fierceness was lighting up her eyes again.

  
"I'll get my laptop," she announced before she disappeared, leaving him to wonder what the hell he'd gotten himself into this time.


	33. [Untitled]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fitzsimmonsftw who wanted a fic that takes place directly after Fitz rescues Jemma in the beginning of season 3.

He doesn’t let go of Jemma’s hand.

Not when they’re extracted from a well of sand and dust, not as she’s transported on a stretcher to the plane, and not even while they hook her up to a number of machines and IVs, despite the medic’s protestations.

He just won’t let go.

The exhaustion of the past six months catches up with her immediately– it’s as if the comfort offered byFitz’s arms around her allows her to finally feel it. Whenever she tries to remain upright, she sags against him within a few moments and he can feel the bones under her skin, all the bumps and dips of her ribs.

She looks different under the sharp light of the infirmary. Her sallow skin and hollowed cheeks make her look a decade older. She’s dehydrated almost to the point of organ failure and deficient in every known vitamin and mineral.

He never considered she might be in such bad shape when he found her. He expected, quite irrationally, to either recover her lifeless body or to find her exactly the way she was when he last saw her, as if time had frozen over on her end.

She’s battered, yes, but she’s alive, and even though his joy has somewhat dimmed since the first moments their fingers touched, he won’t let anger or bitterness overcome him.

He falls asleep eventually, in his chair by her bed, lulled to slumber by talks of X-rays and quarantine, large-specter antibiotics and plastic surgery to fix the fresh scar on her forehead.

 

“You called me in your sleep. You kept saying my name, over and over,” she says quietly when he opens his eyes.

He jumps in surprise– up until the moment he recognizes her voice, he’s sure the past twenty hours have been a dream. But she’s here, still too thin, too pale, too weak, but here.

“Sorry,” he breathes, contrite. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” she whispers into the darkness as she threads her fingers between his again.  "I missed your voice– every day. I missed arguing with you. More than anything else on earth.“

He can’t stop the sob that escapes his throat then. His chest is still crushed under the acute despair of the past months, so close to the surface, and the incomprehensible mix of relief and uncertainty she’s brought back with her.

Even as he holds her hand, he misses her, and when she wraps her arms around his shoulders and cries into the crook of his neck, he can still feel the ache of her absence.


	34. I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.

“I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

Fitz is horrified to feel his eyes well up with ten years worth of suppressed feelings –love, jealousy, bitterness and a treacherous sense of hope that survived all their ups and downs, all the times they held each other too long and too tight or almost kissed and laughed it away the next day.

“I– I don’t understand,” Jemma replies, her eyes wide with panic, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s really surprised that he loves her –or that he’s finally saying it out loud.

“Don’t you?” His voice is hoarse and full of pain and he feels completely, ridiculously bare.

It’s late and he’s heartbroken and desperate and, yes, a little drunk. If Bobbi hadn’t just spent the past two hours convincing him to say something before it was too late, he would have kept his mouth shut and watched her get married to someone else, the same way he’s watched her fall in and out of love with other men for the past ten years without ever trying to alter the course of events.

He would have clapped and cheered and held up his glass as he recited a carefully crafted speech congratulating his very best friend on her special day. And as the new spouses danced and laughed and celebrated, he would have disappeared wordlessly and numbed himself in alcohol or in another woman’s arms. Probably both.

“Why do you– why would you even say that? Fitz, you’re my best friend in the world!” she cries, and starts pacing across her room, clutching her throat as if she can’t breathe. He can relate. He’s had trouble breathing since the day she told him about the engagement.

Could she really _not_ have known?

_Everybody sees it._ That’s what Bobbi had said. _Anybody who’s ever spent five minutes with you two can tell you’re not ‘just friends’._

“Yeah. And you’re more than that, Jemma,” he says, his voice breaking.

He tries to smile through the tears because it’s only occurring to him now that this could be their last conversation. If it is, he doesn’t want her to remember him like a blubbering mess. 

The enormity of what he just did is hitting him slowly. With those three sentence, he’s just warped the nature of their relationship forever. There will be no pretending now. He can’t take it back –and he wouldn’t, if he could.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jemma whimpers, and her distress is tearing him apart. He wants to brush her tears away the way he has every time another guy has made her cry since they were both teenagers, but he can’t blow up their friendship with one breath and console her from the loss of her best friend with the next one.

“Say you’ll think about it,” he rasps. “Just– think about it. That’s all I ask.”

She nods, her eyes squeezed shut and her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. The next moment, she’s in his arms, with her face tucked against his neck and her arms trapped between their bodies as he clenches her tight against him.

“Please don’t marry him,” he mutters against her hair, and hates himself for his bloody weakness.


	35. I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married. (continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lapiccolina.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jemma cried, for the dozenth time since she’d turned up on Daisy’s doorstep unannounced in the dead of night.

Daisy grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled both their glasses before she took her friend’s hand. “I don’t want to alarm you, but you have about 48 hours to make a decision. And I’m not sure what’s the etiquette here, but if you’re _not_ gonna marry him, it’d probably be best to let him know _before_ his parents settle in the front row.”

“ _Oh God_ ,” Jemma groaned, burying her face into her hands. “I swear, I had no idea.”

Daisy tilted her head and made a face. “Really?” she asked, sounding skeptical.

“Well, he never _said_ anything,” Jemma huffed defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. How was she supposed to _guess_? After all this time?

Daisy snorted. “Honestly, the perma-heart-eyes should have been your first clue.” She put down her glass, her expression sobering. “Okay, let me ask you this. Have you ever been on good terms with one of his girlfriends?”

“Well, not really, but… Honestly, I’ve never found any of them particularly friendly.”

Daisy bit her lip for a moment, then burst into laughter. “No shit, Sherlock. I’m fairly certain every single one of them hated your guts with a fiery passion.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Jemma repeated, frowning.

“Yep. But that’s beside the point. Did you ever like one of them? Thought they were good enough for our darling Fitzy?”

Jemma considered the question, her frown deepening as she reviewed her best friend’s dating history with a critical eye.

“Thought so,” Daisy sing-sung.

“That doesn’t mean–”

“Maybe not,” Daisy conceded. “But did you really never consider it? Never let your mind wander? Never wondered what he was worth in the sack?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Let her mind wander? What kind of question was that? Of course, she’d let it _wander_. A girl couldn’t be in complete control of her mind every moment of every day for an entire _decade_. There were _moments_ and _slips_ and _extenuating circumstances_. Things he said or did, unexpectedly tender looks and silences that stretched too long. Surely, that was nothing out of the ordinary between close friends?

“I–” Jemma froze, then tried to avert her face as she felt her cheeks heat up. It was too late– Daisy was chuckling again, only sobering when she took in Jemma’s wounded expression.

“Oh, honey, I’m not laughing at you. I just want you to be happy.”

“I thought you liked Andrew,” Jemma noted, belatedly piqued.

“Hey, it’s not like I actively dislike him,” Daisy shrugged. “I don’t want to influence your decision one way or another, but I’d be lying if I said I never hoped for you two to get your bullcrap together.”

They drank in silence for a few moments, lost in thoughts, until Jemma suddenly tensed up.

“What if it’s too late?” she whispered, and the thought wrapped around her chest like a vise. “We can’t undo the past ten years. Maybe we missed our window of opportunity.”

“You’re such a romantic, Simmons,” Daisy grinned.

Jemma looked at her friend with wide, heart-stricken eyes. Considering the possibility, voicing it out loud… It _was_ a decision, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t think I can marry Andrew,” she said before the first sob shook her chest.

“I know,” Daisy said softly, and held Jemma against her chest, stroking her back soothingly, as she cried herself out for the second time that night.


	36. How was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.

“So, uh, was it… okay? Was it nice? Erm, for you?”

In Fitz’s defense, his brain is not currently working anywhere near full capacity.

He _knows_ you’re not supposed to actually ask– he’s not _that_ inept at this whole dating thing. Theoretically, you’re supposed to just _know_. Or perhaps be told, spontaneously. But the thing is, he doesn’t, and she’s not as forthcoming with commentary as she usually is in every other aspect of their partnership. He _thinks_ she enjoyed it but he just– he needs to make sure.

Because it was. Nice. For him.

Very, _very_ nice. Didn’t-know-it-could-be- _that_ -nice kind of nice.

And he can’t shake the feeling that perhaps, it wasn’t as much of a transformative experience for Jemma as it was for him.

He’s not surprised. It’s been a long time– a _long time_ – since he’s done any of that, and it’s not like he was such an expert to begin with. The circumstances are entirely different from his prior experiences, too– he’s stone cold sober, for one. Not to mention, hopelessly in love with his partner.

Which does change things a bit.

When Jemma doesn’t immediately reply, he’s seized with a deep, gut-wrenching anguish. Because clearly she had a terrible time– that’s why she can’t bring herself to answer his question. His brain starts working at record speed to replay the events of the past hour, trying to pinpoint anything he did wrong– or didn’t do right. But as far as he can remember, there wasn’t any clear indication–

“Oh, you know.” Jemma says at long last, interrupting his train of thought. Her voice is a little high, but at least she doesn’t sound upset. “It was fine. Really nice. There is room for improvement of course, but that’s to be expected, with it being our first time and the stress of our day. I would say 7.5/10. Perhaps even 7.75.”

“Oh.” 7.75 isn’t bad. Not bad at all. He’s already making calculations, counting how many attempts would be needed for him to achieve a perfect 10, depending on the foreseeable progression– 0,05? 0,1? Not that it could be expected to be entirely linear…

“Was there any specific aspect you would like me to critique or are you looking for a more general performance review?”

“I– I don’t know.” The perspective of receiving detailed feedback is equally terrifying and intriguing. Once more, Fitz finds himself raking his brain for an answer– it’s getting easier now that his heartbeat has resumed a normal rhythm– when he catches her gaze and realizes her eyes are dancing with mirth.

“Oh, you can laugh,” he says needlessly, given the way she’s now openly chortling, her bobbing head resting on his shoulder. He can’t help but join in, which drastically reduces the gravitas of his next statement. “But you should know that it is now my purpose in life to obtain a perfect score.”

Jemma shamelessly doubles over with laughter, but Fitz won’t let his determination falter.

“In fact,” he says primly once Jemma has gotten a hold on herself, “give me 10 to 15 minutes and I’ll show you a solid 7.85. Mark my words.”

“Is that right, Dr. Fitz?” she asks with exaggerated sultriness, biting her lip to keep herself from chuckling.

“Just you watch,” he say against her skin, and proceeds to show her how driven and tenacious he can be, with the right motivation.


	37. Hey, asshole, quit kicking the back of my seat, it’s a 10-hour flight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.

“Hey asshole!” Fitz barked. “Quit kicking the back of my seat, alright? It’s a 10-hour flight.”

As first warning went, this one may have lacked subtlety, but the latest round of kicks had caused Fitz’s pencil to jerk awkwardly and ruin the immaculate neatness of his diagram. Ever since takeoff, he’d been _trying_ to ignore the careless kicker and concentrate on some last minute adjustments to his schematics. He’d hoped they would eventually tire themselves, but if anything, the thumping had grown more insistent.

And there were 9 hours left to go.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” When the reply came in a furious, English accented voice, Fitz could barely believe his ears.The gall of that woman!

Narrowing his eyes, Fitz turned around, prepared to rant some more as he faced his boorish assailant, when he noticed two things:

  1. The woman sitting directly behind him was gorgeous. Breathtaking, really, even with her features arranged into a deep scowl. He must have been lost in thought when they had boarded or he would  _definitely_ have noticed her walking by. 
  2. A small child was sitting in her lap, attached to the mother by a bright red airplane belt. The kid was probably a girl, if the bow hair pin hanging limply from a strand of her hair was any indication, and couldn’t be more than 2. Two elegant, pale hands were covering her ears, shielding them from Fitz’s potential swearing.



He caught the culprit’s gaze and found her eyes were gleaming with mischief. The little hooligan didn’t even have the decency to look sorry.

"Oh. Erm.” Deflating, he frowned at the kid before his eyes jerked back to the mother. God, she was pretty. “Can you please get your child to stop hitting my seat? I’m trying to get some work done.”

The woman’s expression relaxed into a vaguely apologetic smile. “Katie doesn’t like the belt,” she replied by means of explanation.

“Of course she doesn’t,” Fitz grunted. “No one likes the belt.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and Fitz noticed how exhausted she looked. “I’ll put some cartoons on in a moment. That should calm her down. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

“Been torturing your mother, have you?” he asked the pint-sized hoodlum, who smirked back to him with shameless delight.

“No, no, Katie’s my goddaughter,” the woman corrected. “Her parents just separated– again. I’m just seeing her home to her mom, back in the States.”

“Oh,” Fitz smiled, wondering why that piece of information rejoiced him so. “That's…  really dedicated godmothering.”

“I’m Jemma, by the way.” She extended the hand not pinning Katie in place to shake his.

“Fitz.” Jemma’s hand was freezing, but he abstained to comment on it.

In all honesty, Fitz didn’t know anything about kids. An only child himself, he’d spent most of his formative years shying away from the company of his peers. Was Katie rendered restless by the trauma of her parents’ divorce? Perhaps she had an intense fear of flying, but wasn’t verbal enough to demand she travelled by boat?

When he glanced at her again, she seemed to be observing his and Jemma’s interaction with keen interest, her eyes darting from one to the other as if watching a ping-pong match. She didn’t _look_ upset or scared– if anything, she appeared to be devising more mischief.

With a determined little smirk, her eyes never leaving Fitz’s, Katie gave a firm kick, square in the middle of his seat.

“Sorry again,” Jemma winced, grabbing the little knee to keep it still. With her other hand, she fished a biscuit out of her bag and shoved it into Katie’s open, waiting hand.

“I think your goddaughter might be an evil genius,” Fitz noted, amused.

Jemma huffed a resigned smile. “Believe me, I _know_.”

—

_9 hours later_

Fitz tickled Katie’s stomach one last time as they waited for Jemma to retrieve her luggage. The little girl giggled, throwing her entire body back, her forehead narrowly missing the unforgiving edge of an airport trolley.

“You’re a menace,” he informed the child, shaking his head, which sent her into another fit of satisfied laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jemma approach, pulling two heavy suitcases behind her, her smile blinding.

Fitz scratched the back of his neck, feeling suddenly shy, and wished he could at least pretend to be suave, just this once.

“So I– I’ll call you tomorrow?” he said, cursing himself for his interrogative tone. He fully _intended_ to call her– the question was, did she still want him to, now they weren’t confined together by circumstances and the iron will of a scheming toddler?

Jemma nodded, beaming, and the way she looked at him then– if he hadn’t been holding a reckless little person in his arms, he probably would have thrown caution to the wind and kissed her right there and then.

As they made their way to the exit gate, Katie began squirming until he let her down.

“Fitz,” Jemma breathed, pausing to grab his hand. “I wanted to tell you–”

“MUMMY!” Katie suddenly yelled. The next moment, she was running, slaloming between passengers and suitcases at full speed. Fitz couldn’t begin to understand how tiny legs like hers could produce such large strides. Jemma took off, jogging behind with her luggage in tow.

Fitz watched as the little girl dashed her way to a tall, statuesque blonde who kneeled down just in time to catch the little cannon ball throwing herself into her arms, long before Jemma caught up with them.

From where he stood, he caught her eye one last time and waved timidly.

“Tomorrow,” she mouthed, and waved back with a toothy smile.


	38. Kiss prompt: sad kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Agentsofnothing.

There’s nothing she can do for Daisy.

Maybe one day she’ll tell her the first law of thermodynamics. Lincoln is part of the stars now, and wouldn’t it be fitting if, some million years from now, he went on to form a sun– a vibrant source of energy and life?

But Daisy’s not ready to hear it yet; perhaps she’ll never be. For now, all she wants is to be left alone to watch the night sky.

There’s not much she can do for the agents infected with Radcliffe’s virus, either. The best she can hope for is to keep them alive. For hours and hours, she checks their vitals, makes sure they’re not in pain. They’re not the easiest patients, but Jemma doesn’t mind. It’s good to be busy.

When there’s no one left to help, she stops by her room and stands in the shower for too long, eager to wash away the last nightmarish 24 hours. 

It’s almost morning when she finally falls in Fitz’s bed. His arms immediately wrap around her and pull her close. He’s warm– so warm. He’s comfort and he’s light and any shot at happiness she might still have.

“Whatever happens now,” she murmurs in the dark, “we stay together. Always.”

“Just try and stop me,” he replies, his voice thick with sleep.

“I mean it, Fitz. No more sacrifices. Promise me.”

Then his mouth is on hers and it’s all that she needs, all that she wants, even if for once it’s not quite enough to chase the world away.

It doesn’t occur to her until much later that he hasn’t promised a thing.


	39. Kiss prompt: a kiss because I have literally been watching you all night and I can’t take anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Percussa-resurgo and Jemmamaximoff.

“Fess up, Dr. Hermit. You’re glad I made you come to this thing.”

Fitz was tempted to deny it  –if only to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off Daisy’s face– but he doubted he could convincingly pull off a grump act at the moment.

He hummed noncommittally instead, his eyes still fixed on the other side of the room, where Daisy’s new neighbor chatted animately with Bobbi and Hunter, glancing back to him every once in a while. Each time their eyes met, she smiled a little brighter.

And if Bobbi’s widening grin was any indication, it hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed.

“I swear, if you don’t go and talk to her, I’m going to drag you over there myself and squish your faces together.”

That was an… intriguing proposition. Not that he would ever willingly admit that. Not to Daisy’s face, anyway.

“I’m gonna get another drink,” Fitz muttered, much to his friend’s consternation.

Of course he _wanted_ to talk to her, he just didn’t know how to go about it. He’d always been terrible at that kind of things. Still, he couldn’t explain it, but there was something about that girl –Jemma, Daisy had said– that made him want to try harder. Or at all, really. Hit with a sudden jolt of resolve, he grabbed not one, but two cups, and poured beer in one and red wine in the other while he tried to talk himself into approaching Daisy’s impossibly attractive neighbor.

“Hi.”

He was so startled when he turned and found Jemma standing inches away from him, he almost spilled the cup he was still holding.

“Hi,” he replied, hoping the dim lightening of the room was enough to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks, and awkwardly handed her the wine. “Erm, this is for you.”

“Thank you,” she beamed. “I’m Jemma.”

“Fitz,” he replied, cursing himself for his inability to speak more than one word at once. It was entirely her fault, though– she was even prettier from up close, with sparkly eyes and bright red lips that seemed to be smiling only for him.

“I know. Your friends told me,” she grinned. “They told me _a lot_ about you, actually.”

He tried not to squirm too noticeably at the thought. He didn’t believe they would intentionally embarrass him in front of a lovely stranger, but with Hunter, you never knew. “You shouldn’t believe a word–”

“Fitz?” Jemma bit her lips, her eyes studying his face carefully.

“Yeah?”

By way of reply, she pressed her lips to his in a soft yet daring kiss. His eyes fluttered closed and his free hand curled around her waist as he eagerly responded. Before she pulled away, he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair– or was it her skin? He hoped he would eventually find out.

“Sorry,” she grinned, wiping a smudge of lipstick from his bottom lip. “I’ve wanted to do that all evening.”

Much later, every time Fitz would tease her about being so stricken by his good looks she’d ambushed him with a kiss before they’d exchanged two full sentences, Jemma would –astonishingly– maintain that the evening had been a de facto first date, arranged by his scheming friends, although none of them had seen fit to inform either of them.


	40. Kiss prompt: Hungry kisses on every bit of newly visible skin as clothing is slowly peeled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anonymous.

“Hurry,” Jemma hissed, hiking up her skirt and pulling him closer. She gasped when he stepped between her parted thighs, and rewarded him with a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his throat. **  
**

“I don’t _want_ to hurry,” Fitz replied, his voice somewhat muffled as he began kissing every last one of Jemma’s newly uncovered freckles. He _missed_ her freckles, and had texted her so– that was how they’d ended up in the closet making out like horny teenagers in the first place.

 _Honestly_. They couldn’t expect her to concentrate on ridiculously easy sample analysis when her boyfriend– ex-boyfriend? Would-be boyfriend? Their current status was unclear– was standing 10 feet away. It _felt_ like a test– one they were both unambiguously failing.

It would be the first test Jemma Simmons failed in her entire life. Other than her field assessment, of course.

“Fitz! We don’t–” Her chiding turned into a stiffled moan as his mouth settled on a beauty mark adorning the side of her breast, while his fingers slipped into the waist of her skirt. “We don’t have much time.”

“Don’t rush me,” he groaned, pinning one of her hands against the wall behind her. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” She arched her back to give him better access, running her free hand through his short hair, grazing his scalp with her nails. “This is ridiculous. We shouldn’t have to hide at all.”

“It will blow over,” he said half-heartedly. It certainly didn’t seem to be heading this way. It had taken a mere two weeks for the Director to be dubbed ‘Dolores Umbridge’ by most of the agents stationed at the playground.

“Coulson doesn’t think so,” Jemma huffed bitterly.

“Coulson?” Fitz’s head popped up from her cleavage. “You’ve been talking about this with _Coulson_?”

“Sort of,” she shrugged. “I think he was just looking for a sympathetic ear. He’s not very happy with the new management.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “ _Shocker_.”

“Well, as it turns out, I’m not very happy with them either!”

“I noticed,” he said, hiding his grin in the crook of her neck, nipping at the soft skin there. “Look at you, roping me into breaking the rules.”

“Well, this particular regulation doesn’t benefit anybody. If anything, it’s making us less productive!”

“I’m plenty productive,” Fitz teased, biting a smirk. “You’re the one who can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

It was Jemma’s turn to roll her eyes, huffing a disgruntled sigh. “A month ago we were sharing every moment together, and now we can’t even be seen holding hands.”

“I know.” Fitz leaned his forehead against hers, cupping her cheek. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “We could get married.”

“ _What_?”

“I mean– no, but–”

“We will not get married to get around Section 17!” she gasped, sounding thoroughly affronted.

Fitz’s expression crumpled. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, you’re right–”

“And you won’t propose to me in a darken closet with your hand under my skirt,” she added, narrowing her eyes. “Honestly, for someone who claims to be such a romantic–”

“Alright, alright! Forget I said anything,” he grumbled, rolling his head back. 

Jemma arched an eyebrow. “Now, can we go back to what we were–”  
  
Fitz didn’t give her time to finish the sentence.


	41. Kiss prompt: Hungry kisses on every bit of newly visible skin (cont.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of [Chapter #40](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7099165/chapters/18363892) for Serena89.

He was doing it again. She didn’t even need to look up to make sure, she could _feel_ his eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it, exactly, but it made formulating a new iteration of her antiserum exponentially more difficult.

`[Jemma:] Will you stop looking at me like that?`

She glanced in his direction when she heard the muted beep of his phone, and watched him fish it out of his pocket and read her message, head bent low, a secret smile growing on his lips. He didn’t look her way, but he started typing a response immediately. A moment later, she felt her own cell vibrate in her lab coat’s pocket.

`[Fitz:] Like I have nothing but the utmost respect for your impeccable professionalism and sharp intellect?`

It was a struggle not to snort, but then again, everything was a struggle nowadays. Sharing his space all day while have to restrain the casual touches that were so customary between them. Arguing with him without the ready option to shut him up with a kiss when he was being unreasonable… 

And then, there were the nights. The lonely, forlorn nights.

Most aggravatingly, he seemed to be dealing with all this much better than she was. That would simply not do. 

`[Jemma:] Like you want to hike up my skirt and bend me over the lab bench.`

Which, admittedly, may have been what  _she_ craved every time her gaze landed on him. Still, the audible gasp he couldn’t quite hold in proved immensely satisfying. 

Whoever thought enforcing Section 17 among senior agents, not only in the field but also in stationary bases, accomplished _anything_ of value was sorely mistaken. If anyone had bothered to ask, Jemma would have let them now in no uncertain term that the regulation did _not_ give Radcliffe’s virus victims a better fighting chance. As much as she tried to mobilize all her brain-power on devising a cure, stealing another few moments of bliss was quickly becoming Jemma’s constant preoccupation, to her work’s detriment. 

`[Fitz:] I'm afraid your last message constitutes sexual harassment, Dr. Dr. Simmons. If you keep this up, I'm gonna have to report you.`

Jemma huffed an indignant sigh. _Honestly_. She was the wronged party here, and he’d do well to remember that.

`[Jemma:] You've been sexually harassing me with your eyes all morning. How am I supposed to achieve anything?`

She glared his way unabashedly but when their gazes met, his was soft and tender– he really was the most _infuriating_ boyfriend. He held her eye for a few moments, and it felt like a hug.

`[Fitz:] Don’t worry. I have a plan. `

Jemma tried not to groan when he thoughtlessly licked his lips.

* * *

A few hours later, Jemma and Fitz were laying half naked in the backseat of a S.H.I.E.L.D. issue SVU stationed in the garage, both breathless and much happier than before.

“I’ve got to say, I rather like catching up on everything I missed as a socially and romantically inept teenager,” Fitz grinned, tracing a line up and down her bare side. “It’s enlightening.”

Jemma hummed, stirring as much as the cramped space of the car would allow. “It’s quite brilliant, actually. How did you think of that?”

“It was Mack’s idea,” he shrugged. “Apparently, he’s not in any hurry to report the faulty cameras to maintenance.”

Jemma snickered softly. “Let me guess– he and Elena have found themselves in a similar predicament.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to know anything about anyone, just make sure the place is clear by 10’.”

“What time is it?” she asked, grazing his stubbled jaw. He craned his neck, offering the other side of his face to her attentions before he glanced at his watch.

“9:45,” he said, sounding dejected.

“Oh, good,” Jemma said cheerfully, shifting until she was laying squarely on top of him.  "There’s plenty we can do in 15 minutes.“

“Dr. Dr. Simmons,” he tutted. “You really are–”  
  
“You’re wasting time,” she said pointedly, before tracing a path down his neck with her tongue.  
  
“Oh,” he gasped faintly. “Good thinking.”


	42. Coda Challenge for episode 4x01

It was the most breathtaking landscape she’d ever seen. The colors alone– a clear turquoise sea contrasting sharply against the navy sky and near-white sand– were enough to make her heart swell in her chest. It looked so _real_. If it weren’t for the eerie quiet surrounding her, or the breeze she couldn’t feel softly ruffling the palm trees overlooking the beach, she could have sworn they’d made it to the Seychelles, after all.  


As she watched the virtual waves silently lick the sand, rhythmical and inviting, Jemma felt a familiar pinch of sadness and regret, but quickly stifled it. _It won’t always be like this_ , she reminded herself, not for the first time that day.

“How does it look?” Fitz asked, startling her. His voice was close– 2 or 3 feet away, maybe.

“It’s perfect,” she grinned, swinging her arms forward as she blindly reached for him.

Fitz chuckled. “Hey, no cheating.”

Jemma took a few steps in his direction and was suddenly seized with the urge to kick off her shoes and feel the burning sand under the soles of her feet. 

“I feel overdressed,” she said, glancing down to her pant suit and trainers.

“If you want to strip, don’t let me stop you,” Fitz replied cheekily as he rummaged, around, still invisible. “Okay, here I come.”

The next moment, Fitz was standing awkwardly before her, a bottle of wine held against his chest and two stem glasses dangling from his fingers. He’d changed into a dark blue shirt he knew she liked on him, she noted. He looked adorably flustered and out of place on this desert tropical beach he’d created just for her.

“Happy birthday, Jemma,” he said, tilting his head, staring at her with unabashed adoration, and any hint of dissatisfaction she might have felt with their current arrangement quickly evaporated.

“Come here,” she said, and snaked a hand around his neck. She leaned forward, ready to kiss him– until their VR helmets clanked together loudly.

“Ow,” she said, waving a hand in front of her head, disconcerted to feel plastic and metal where she could only see thin air.

“Sorry, I didn’t think–”

Jemma shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll just have to be creative, I guess,” she said, biting a smirk. He’d made a _beach_ for her– there was no way she was letting it go to waste.

Fitz’s eyebrows raised hopefully. “Oh?”

“Well, you told me I should strip, if I felt like it,” Jemma reminded him, and popped open the buttons of her jacket.

“This will still, huh, complicate things,” he said, gesturing vaguely around his head.

“You’ll find a way,” she said with a lopsided grin, patting his shoulder. “I have faith in you.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My coda drabbles have [their own series now](http://archiveofourown.org/series/570622).


	43. A proper hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a birthday gift for an anonymous reader.

Jemma wove through the crowded airport with a bounce in her step, her heavy suitcase rolling noisily behind her. Going back to school had never been a hardship for her, but she could honestly say she’d never looked forward to it as much as she did this year. The Academy was the most stimulating environment she’d ever known– in no small part because of her best friend and partner’s contrary temperament. She couldn’t wait to get started on their second year.

In a matter of minutes, she and Fitz were meant to meet at the check-in counter, and she was bursting with anticipation.

She had anticipated missing him over the summer, but had underestimated just how much. Somehow, she felt homesick for every part of him –his impressive brain, his short temper, his humour, the way he always understood what she was trying say under the layers of babble and politeness, and even his obnoxious accent. It had been a _very_ long summer.

They’d texted almost every day, but she hadn’t heard his voice since she’d called him to wish him a happy birthday, almost two weeks earlier.

And then, suddenly, he was there, 25 feet away, looking straight at her.

She almost didn’t recognize him. Her gaze bounced away from his face as she scanned the crowd, recognition registering only a moment later. Her eyes widened. _Oh_.

It was his face, but everything about it looked different. His hair was clipped shorter, standing up straight instead of twisting into little springy curls, and his sparsely stubbled jaw looked fuller than it usually did when it was all smooth, pink skin. Even the shapeless t-shirt that hung loosely on his shoulders looked like it belonged to someone else. At the Academy, Fitz only wore button-ups and ties. Even on Sundays.

He looked older. He looked– _attractive_. The thought made her cheeks heat up and her stomach twist in knots.

How did someone change so much in 6 weeks?

* * *

Jemma Simmons had freckles.

It shouldn’t have come as such a shock– he’d noticed them before, of course. They were just one of the many, _many_ little things that stood out about her. But she didn’t usually have so many of them. As she stood there, her eyes searching for him, freckles were all he could see:mottling her sun-kissed complexion with little caramel dots, highlighting her cheekbones, her long, elegant neck, and spilling into the V-neck of her shirt.

Her hair was different too, shorter and more stylish– gone was her usual practical ponytail. Instead, it was curling loosely around her face, barely brushing her shoulders. It made her look different. Sophisticated. Sexy.

_Whoops_. That was one of the things he wasn’t supposed to think about Jemma Simmons. In fact, it was precisely what he’d spent the past six weeks swearing high and low had never crossed his mind, while his mother smirked– _smirked_ – and tutted placatingly before pretending to drop the subject.

Perhaps the constant underlying insinuation that he had some sort of crush on Jemma had somehow made it true. There _was_ something to be said for the power of suggestion, after all.

It didn’t felt so absurd when she was standing there, practically _glowing_ , as if she hadn’t spent the last three hours in an English train, and showing off several beauty spots low in her cleavage that were extremely difficult to ignore. And now he was gawking at her. Practically ogling, really.

He must have gone into a fugue state, because for one moment of sheer insanity, he could vividly picture what it would be like to drop his backpack to the ground, close the distance between them with an assured stride and kiss her right there in front of anyone– as if they were a couple, as if they were in love, as if he it was something they did all the time. As if those gorgeous full lips of hers were his to kiss.

Bloody hell, what a life it would be, if he could walk up to Jemma Simmons and kiss her hello in a crowded airport.

Jemma turned to him then– at the worst possible moment, when his face was all flushed and his mind rapidly heading for the gutter. She looked right past him at first and continued  surveying the crowd, before her eyes jumped back to him and widened, her cheeks tinting pink.

For a few long, surreal seconds, they stared at each other silently, not quite smiling– not entirely _friend-like_ , either– and it felt almost _possible_. Achievable.

He didn’t dare to talk, or move, or _breathe_ – the moment felt too fragile, and he was terrified to break it.

And then someone bumped into him and he turned around reflexively to glare at the middle-aged man who’d just jostled him with his luggage. When he turned back to Jemma, she was smiling at him in  the way she always did as she called his name.

He made himself smile back. The cloud of temporary insanity had cleared– which was a good thing, he tried to reassure himself. They were friends. Not the kind of friends who lost track of each other after graduation, he could already tell. He and Jemma were going to be friends for a long, long time, and that was worth all the airport kisses.

* * *

Ten years later, Jemma Simmons still had freckles, and they were still the first thing Fitz noticed when he caught sight of her across the terminal. Ignoring the press of the crowd around him, he dropped his backpack and walked towards her purposefully. There, in front of everyone, he gave his fiancée a proper hello.


	44. P.D.A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this picture](http://orphanwork.tumblr.com/post/54421084113/wilmer-angleterre-non-traditionnelle-ca-1970) found on Tumblr.

“You’re distracting me,” Jemma said, not bothering to look up from her book.

Fitz smirked, sliding one arm under his head. “I haven’t said anything.”

“You know _very well_ what you’re doing.”

Fitz’s smile stretched wider when she glanced up at him only to shoot him an emphatic eyeroll.

It was a beautiful early summer morning, cloudless and warm, and she had insisted they should soak up some sunshine (“Vitamin D is _essential_ , Fitz!”). Fitz, for his part, had made no secret of his prefered way to occupy their Sunday.

Jemma was lying on her stomach in the grass, propped up on her elbows and her hair spilling over one shoulder, a posture he’d seen her in countless times before– only now that they were a couple, the sight had a drastically different effect on him.

Before they’d gotten together, Fitz had never really allowed his imagination to run freely where she was concerned. Of course, his own mind routinely betrayed him in that matter, and he couldn’t be held responsible for the direction his dreams sometimes took. But for the most part, he’d done his very best to keep his feelings and thoughts as pure as humanly possible for as long as he wasn’t _certain_ they were on the same page. Since Bucharest, though… well, was it really his fault if his train of thought was far less gentlemanly? Now that he’d touched her, tasted her, heard her say his name in an entirely new way– repeatedly– all she had to do was to breathe in his general direction and he was practically ready to go. He was stuck in a fog of perpetual horniness.

So, yes, it was entirely possible he’d been unabashedly ogling her in public while she tried in vain to ignore him and read.

“Isn’t ‘appreciative staring’ a boyfriend’s prerogative? My bad. I’m still learning the subtleties of this, you know,” he said teasingly.

Jemma couldn’t help but chuckle. Shaking her head, she craned her neck to give him a kiss. She meant to keep it sweet and chaste– barely a peck, really. But the moment their lips touched, Fitz’s limited capacity for restraint melted away. He buried his hand in her hair, angling her face so he could deepen the kiss, and started devouring her, his body curling around hers.

“Fitz,” she breathed urgently, once his mouth trailed away to nibble at the spot beneath her ear. “Fitz, we’re in public.”

“We’re just making out,” he said, despite his hand was trailing dangerously up her shirt. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to make out _like this_ in public,” she insisted, nudging his knee, which was currently resting against her waist.

“Like what?” he asked with feigned innocence, although he was well aware that she could feel the extent of his interest against her hip.

“Like you want to tear off my clothes and have your way with me right here in the park, audience be damned,” she huffed in half-hearted protestation.

Fitz did his best not to growl. “That may or may not have crossed my mind,” he said into her neck, before he flicked out his tongue over the pulse point along her throat. He sucked the skin there into his mouth experimentally and a shiver coursed through her, her body leaning unwittingly into him rather than away.

When their gazes caught again, her eyes had gone as dark as his.

“Alright. You win,” she said, breathless and beaming. “Let’s go back to the base.” Her eyes were promising all kind of rewards when they did. It took all but a second for him to grudgingly tear his mouth of her skin and jump to his feet, extending a hand to help her up.


End file.
